NO SON OF MINE
by ka-mia2286
Summary: A look at the relationship between Wesley and his father


NO SON OF MINE

**Author: **Ka-mia2286

**Summary: **A little fic exploring the relationship between Wesley and his father.

**Spoilers:** All of Angel is fair game.

**Feedback:** Please, it would be nice.

**Disclaimer:** Joss owns the characters, and Genesis owns the song, all I can claim ownership to is the idea.

* * *

_Well the key to my survival _

_Has never been much doubt_

_The question was how I could keep sane_

_Trying to find away out_

Five year old Wesley Wyndam-Pryce sat curled in to a ball in the back of the closet under the stairs. He hadn't meant to spill tea on his father's translations, but Father didn't care. Roger had given his son a solid thrashing and when he was done he roughly shoved the boy into the dark closet.

Wesley hated to closet more than anything. As a child of watchers, Wesley knew all too well of the demons that hid in the darkness of the night. Who was to say that the demons couldn't find Wesley in darkness of the closet under the stairs.

The sound of scratching came from inside the walls and Wesley began to tremble. His imagination was in overdrive as he thought of vampires, brakens, and other evil creatures of the night that were attempting to scratch through the walls and make a five year old boy into a meal.

Whispering came next, it always came -years later, when he reflected on his childhood Wesley was never sure if he imagined the whispers or not- . And as always the whispers began to say vile, horrid things. Talks of killing little boys; turning his skin into clothing; draining his pure blood; and using his eyes in spells. The whispers grew steadily louder, and more horrible.

Wesley began to scream. He clawed at the closet door, trying his damnedest to escaped the voices. His finger's were covered in blood, his nails long gone, but Wesley continue to claw at the door, only stopping to beat upon it, begging his father to let him out.

From outside of the closet door, Miriam Pryce closed her eyes to force back tears, and quickly walked away.

* * *

_Things were never easy for me_

_Peace of mind was hard to find_

_And I needed a place I where could hide_

_Somewhere I could call my own_

For the first time in his life, Wesley would not be under his father's constant watch and rule. For today Wesley was to begin his education as a watcher in training. Not until Christmas holiday would, Wesley return home, and the boy did not regret it. At the academy there would be no closet, no beatings from father, and no mother to turn a blind eye to the suffering of her only child.

Everything would be different; everything would be better. Or so a disillusioned eleven year old boy had thought.

"This bed is mine," A fellow first year boy by the name of Fisher snarled at Wesley, shoving all of Wesley's belongings off the bed. Fisher was a good four inches taller than Wesley and outweighed the smaller boy by a good twenty pounds. There was no way Wesley could hold his against the other boy without getting himself seriously hurt in the process. But that didn't stop Wesley from protesting

"But I've already unpacked all of my belongings."

"And I don't care, I want this bed, so move your sodding crap and find a new bed," Fisher snapped. A look of distraught crossed Wesley's face, he thought that it would be different at the Academy, that there would be no bullies. Yet he had been gone. The bullies here had taken the shape of boys his age. Wesley reluctantly gathered his unpacked belongings and placed them back in his trunk.

From behind him he heard laughing, he turned around to see Fisher making fun of him, other boys laughing along.

The academy turned out to be no better than home. Wesley was bullied often, he was even beaten on occasion. Though his beatings were nothing like the ones Father had given him. The only difference was that at school, Wesley had to endure the humiliation of the entire Academy knowing that Wesley was unable to defend himself against those his age or even younger.

Wesley had learned that the best way to avoid the bullies was to find refuge in the library. He threw himself into his studies. Wesley may have been small for his age and the butt of everyone's jokes, but one day he would show them all. He would be the best watcher, the Academy every produced. He would have his own slayer and she would be the best the world had ever know. One day students would be reading about Wesley and his slayer's triumphs.

If only that were so.

* * *

_I didn't think much about it_

_Till it started happening all the time_

_Soon I was living with the fear everyday _

_Of what might happen that night_

A the end of his first year, Wesley was picked up from the Academy by the butler. Father was far too busy with work for the Council and Mother was attending a social event. Wesley would have the house to himself until his father and mother arrived home for dinner. While most of his schoolmates would be welcome home by family -and maybe even have a party thrown for the occasion- Wesley was greeted by the silence of the large mansion he called his home.

In truth, Wesley didn't mind. He liked the quite, and as long as Father was away Wesley could avoid the beatings that were sure to occur sooner or later -Wesley prayed for later-.

"Get up boy!" Roger yelled as Wesley was yanked out of bed. "You are a disgrace to the name of Pryce! I receive your school report to learn that you allow yourself to be bullied. And your marks. I don't even know why I expected better from a worthless child like yourself."

"Father please," Wesley begged tears springing to his eyes as he knew what was about to happen. The closet. Wesley hadn't been sent to the closet since Christmas holiday. And though he was now twelve that closet still struck terror in his heart.

"Don't plead with me boy," Roger hissed dragging Wesley down the stairs and throwing him into the closet. The door slammed shut encasing Wesley in darkness.

"No! Father please let me out!" Wesley screeched, clawing at the door. "Please Father, don't!"

Wesley couldn't sleep. He had been home now for a full month and over the course of that month he had been thrashed, locked away under the stairs, and abused mentally. There were dark circles under his eyes due to a lack of sleep. He was too frighten to sleep fearing that his father would come in the middle of the night again yanking him out of bed and tossing him in the closet. Wesley couldn't even eat anymore he was so nervous. And what little he managed to eat, ended up down the toilet, from Wesley worrying himself sick. He had lost what little weight he had managed to put on at school, giving him a starved appearance. Wesley didn't know how much more he could stand.

* * *

_I couldn't stand to hear the _

_Crying of my mother _

_And I remember when _

_I swore that would be _

_The last they see of me_

_And I never went home again_

He was home for summer holiday again, his last summer holiday. There were only a few weeks left till fall term started and Wesley couldn't of been happier. How he detested being home. Though he was nearly grown, Father still managed to beat him on occasion when Wesley found someway to displease his father. Things at home were steadily growing worse. Wesley didn't know how much longer he could stand it.

Sighing Wesley went out to collect the morning post. There was a bundle of letters as per normal. There was also a letter from the Academy addressed to Wesley. It was thicker than the previous years letter. Stuffing the other letters under his arm, Wesley preceded to open his mail as he went back inside.

Wesley nearly dropped the mail in shock as he read his letter from the Academy. A wide grin broke out across his face and he ran up the stairs to his parents' room.

"Mum! Mum!" He yelled. "Mum, I'm Head Boy." Wesley's words died on his lips as he entered his parents room. There on the bed sat his mother a black eye marring her pretty face, as tears flowed from her eyes.

"Mum," Wesley whispered walking over to his mother the fact that he had been made Head Boy forgotten. Miriam looked up at her son and quickly ducked her head in shame . "Mum, who did this to you?" Wesley asked fearing the answer. He had heard his parents auguring earlier that morning and his father leaving out in a huff.

"Wesley, go to your room," Miriam ordered fiercely.

"Father did this to you. Didn't he?" Wesley accused.

"Your father just lost his temper. He didn't mean to hurt me," Miriam defended her husband.

"And I'm sure father locking me up in the closet was to make me a into better watcher, a better man," Wesley hissed.

"Don't speak of your father in such a manner," Miriam gasped.

"Don't defend him! After all the years of abuse I have endured, you never stood up for me. You may not give a damn about me Mother, but one would think that you would care about your own self. Are you going to spend another eighteen years being Father's punching bag now that I have out grown him Mother?"

The sound of flesh upon flesh echoed through the room as Miriam slapped he son. Shock crossed Wesley's features. He was used to being hit by his father, but in all his years his mother had never laid a finger on him. Wesley abruptly stood up.

"I leave for school in two weeks. I don't think I shall spend my last two weeks of holiday at home, Mother. I have enough funds saved to spend the rest of my holiday at a hotel. I'm leaving tomorrow, and I shan't be home for Christmas. In fact I don't think I'll be home again for quite sometime, maybe never," Wesley spoke. He left his mother behind in stunned. Wesley was as good as his word. The next morning he was gone, and it was many years before he returned home again.

_

* * *

They say that time is a healer _

_And my wounds are not the same_

_I ranged that bell with my heart in my mouth _

_I had to hear what he'd say_

It had been nearly four years since Wesley had last been home. He stood at the door to the mansion his heart racing his mouth dry. Nervously Wesley brought his hand up to the doorbell and rung it. Neither his mother nor father answered the door but instead it was the butler.

"Mr. Wyndam-Pryce," The butler greeted.

"Hullo, Lane," Wesley said entering the place that had once been his home. "Lane could you please inform my parents I have stopped in for a bit of business."

"Of course sir," Lane said and went to inform Roger and Miriam that their son had arrived after years of absence.

Wesley stood by the fireplace waiting for his parents to arrive. He let his gaze wander and his eyes fell upon the closet door under the stairs. A shiver went down his back, and for a moment Wesley swore that he could hear voices whispering from the closet. He shook his head dismissing the whole thing as rubbish and childhood delusions.

Hearing footsteps on the stairs, Wesley looked up to see his father, wearing his ever present scowl. Wesley found himself feeling once again like the little boy he was all those years ago.

"Why are you here?" Roger questioned his son.

"I have news father," Wesley said forcing himself to meet his father's eyes. He straightened his back and held his chin high as he announced; "The council has given me a slayer."

* * *

_He sat me down and talked to me _

_He looked me start in the eye_

_He said:_

_You're no son you're no son of mine_

_You're no son you're no son of mine_

_You walked out you left us behind_

_And you're no son you're no son of mine_

_Oh his words how they hurt me I'll never forget it_

_And as time went by I lived to regret it _

_You're no son you're no son of mine_

_Oh where should I go_

_And what should I do_

_You're no son you're no son of mine_

_But I came here for help, I came here for you

* * *

_

"I expect you want for me to be proud of you," Roger said sitting down in his leather chair.

"It would be nice Father," Wesley muttered.

"Don't you take that tone of voice with me boy," Roger snapped.

"Forgive me Father," Wesley apologized and instantly berated himself for acting as though he were but a mere ten years old and not a grown man, a watcher who had just been given charge of a Slayer.

"Forgive you? I've been forgiving you since the day you were born. You've been nothing more than a disappointment your whole life. A clumsy little whelp, good at nothing, good for nothing," Roger growled.

"Father-," Wesley began.

"Don't call me that. As far as I'm concerned you are no son of mine. You walked out on this family four years ago. Causing me more disgrace than you could ever imagine" Roger declared. Wesley's face fell, but he quickly regained his composure.

"I'm sorry you feel that way...Father. Tell Mother that I stopped by." Wesley said softly with that he stood and left the place he had once called home.

* * *

_Well the years they passed so slowly_

_I though about him every day_

_What would I do if we passed on the street_

_Would I keep running away_

Wesley sighed, as he threw back a shot of tequila... and winced. Wesley doubted that he would ever be able to do hard liquor without shuddering at the taste. Wesley had never been a heavy drinker, his father had drunk enough to make Wesley leery of the amber colored liquids.

But Wesley needed a drink today. After dealing with the Anderson boy who had been 'possessed' by the Ethros demon, too many memories of Wesley's childhood had come flooding back. Tidbits' of his childhood, that Wesley had spent the past year trying to fully repress.

After the fiasco in Sunnydale, Wesley sought to make a new life for himself a life that didn't take place in England. A life that didn't involve his father. Wesley was aware that he was running away from his past; that staying in LA was a new beginning. A way to forget about the past two decades he had spent trying to live up to his father's standards.

Wesley had managed to get as far away from his father as he possibly could, short of transporting himself to another dimension, that is. The one thing Wesley feared above all, was that one day he and his father would cross paths again. If they ever did Wesley didn't know what he would do. Maybe he would just have to transport himself to another dimension. Wesley would do anything to be as far away from his father as possible.

* * *

_in and out of hiding places_

_soon I'd have to face the facts _

_we'd have to sit down and talk it over_

_and that would mean going back_

Had Angel not made him, Wesley would have never made the journey back to the place he once called home. But after the cyborg impersonator of his father, Angel realized something that Wesley didn't want to admit. Wesley had to settle things with his father.

Pulling that trigger, had made Wesley relieved in someway. For the first time in his life he had stood up to his father. Even if his 'father' had just been a cyborg. Wesley realized that he had changed, he was no longer the five year old boy to frightened to stand up to his father. Wesley was a man now, fighting the good fight, no longer terrified of things that go bump in the night; or the closet...or his father.

Now if he could just get up the courage to ring that bell.

* * *

_They say that time is a healer _

_And my wounds are not the same_

_I ranger that bell with my heart in my mouth _

_I had to hear what he'd say_

_He sat me down and talked to me _

_He looked me start in the eye_

_He said:_

_You're no son you're no son of mine_

_You're no son you're no son of mine_

_You walked out you left us behind_

_And you're no son you're no son of mine_

_Oh his words how they hurt me I'll never forget it_

_And as time went by I lived to regret it

* * *

_

As Wesley Wyndam-Pryce laid dying in his own pool of blood, his thoughts turned briefly to the confrontation he had with his father several months back. Nothing had changed. Roger still had renounced Wesley, again declaring that he had no son.

And again Wesley was hurt by his father's words. Wesley had spent more than half of his life attempting to please his father. He had thought that by coming to LA, he would outgrow the ridiculous need to make his father proud. Yet Wesley reflected on all fo the conversations -three- that he had, had with his father over the past five years and realized that he had never stopped trying to make his father proud.

If Wesley had never cared about showing that he could be a good son, he would have never stayed in his line of work. He would have left Sunnydale and gone off to be a curator or something of the sort, never looking back on his old life. Instead he had gone on to become a 'rouge demon hunter' all the while hoping that he would one day earn his father's respect.

What a waste of a life. Wesley doubted his father would morn his son's passing. Yet Wesley found that the thought didn't sadden him. If Angel and the other's survived, Wesley knew that he would leave behind those that had loved him.The only thing that Wesley found that he regretted was that it had taken him so long to realize that he could never please the man he called father.

* * *


End file.
